


One-word Stimuli responses

by Linnet



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnet/pseuds/Linnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all. My friends give me words to work from, and I write a mini fan-fic in response to each and every one. <br/>The main challenge was that they could only be the length of one page of my A5 notebook. <br/>As a result, some are better than others.<br/>Also, some are more innocent than others. <br/>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cupcake

John turned the corner, expecting to see the normal, peaceful, everyday life of Baker Street continuing as normal on this lazy sunday afternoon

He did not expect to see the cloud of black smoke billowing out of the window of an upper floor flat partway down the street.

He wasn't surprised however, that the flat was 221B and the culprit was one Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock?" He called, fighting his way through the thick black fog. A figure materialized out of the smoke, looking guilty and slightly annoyed in between coughs. 

"Um... John? I burnt your cupcakes."

"You don't say? Sherlock, you're an idiot sometimes. I specifically told you when to take them out!"

"I forgot."

"If that's a mistake the greatest mind in the 21st century can make, then there's no hope for the world.


	2. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Though it's a little late.

"John, you've messed up my sock index again!"

John groaned and squinted blearily at his flatmate, and then his wristwatch.

"Sherlock, its two in the morning."

"Yes, and you've stolen one of my scoks. Not even a pair, just one. What is the point in that?"

"Merry Christmas to you too, seeing as it's technically past midnight now. Go to sleep."

"No. Not unless you tell me what you did with my sock."

"It's in the living room."

The unreasonably (John thought) irate man vanished from his vision. He closed his eyes and attempted to go back to sleep, but Sherlock disturbed him once again.

"John, why have you put an orange in my sock and hung it on the mantlepiece?"

"Christmas cheer. Now bugger off and let me sleep."


	3. War Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty. Sorry to offend anyone, but it's not intentional. This is the way some people feel about memorials.

He wasn't acting right. There was something wrong with the way he held himself, and a quiver in his voice. Something was upsetting John.The fact was only confirmed when Sherlock found him one day, leaning over his cup of tea and trying to hide the tears slowly rolling down his cheeks.

"Do you need to talk?" His voice made John jump, and the genuine concern in Sherlock's expression surprised him.

"No. I don't want to burden you."

"I want to know what's making you upset."

"Oh... memories. I went to visit the war memorial last week. Seeing all the names of my old friends up there on that plaque brought everything back. All that's left of them is names, now, and they were so much more than that." There was a short silence, before Sherlock spoke quietly.

"They're not just names. You remember them."


	4. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Reichenbach angst

John has been seeing his therapist again. Apparently talking to Ella is supposed to help. Except that she asks questions that sting.

"What would you do to get him back?"

Especially that one. It almost pains him to answer.

"Anything."

***

He forces his feet up the steps to the flat, head hanging, cold and tired. The therapy sessions are slowly bleeding the life out of him, sucking him dry. His eyes are downcast, full of sorrow, and he almost misses the dark shadow in the chair.

"John?"

"Sherlock?"

The first words they have spoken to each other in over three years.

"What you said to Ella... I'm sorry."

John wills himself to speak, to say anything, but his whole body is paralysed, caught up in the gaze of the man who is slowly approaching him after years of separation. Their eyes are fixed on each other.

"Thank you, John."

"Anytime."

And kissing Sherlock Holmes.. there are no words.

"I'd do anything for you too." Is the whispered reply.


	5. Tights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is disgruntled. John retaliates.

"John! There's a pair of tights on the living room floor! Since I definitely didn't put them there, I'm assuming they belong to that woman you had over last night. Move them, John!"

The accused wanders in, cup of tea in hand, hair ruffled and messy, satisfied expression set firmly on his face.

"Why should I? You leave your experiments lying around all over the place, so I'm perfectly entitled to do the same with my things. If you're really bothered, clear them away yourself."

"That is not a valid argument! I don't know where those tights have been!"

"I do."

"I don't want to know. But I'm not touching them."

"Yeah well, I have this weird aversion to touching boiled eyeballs, but that doesn't seem to bother you."

The tights flopped against his back. John turned and eyes the man who had thrown them, and was now wearing an annoyingly smug expression. John raised an eyebrow.

"Do you WANT me to throw boiled eyeballs at you?"

The smug grin vanished.


End file.
